


Strange Dreams and Bad Jokes

by SourWolf



Series: Lessons Learned [7]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-07
Updated: 2012-04-07
Packaged: 2017-11-03 05:58:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/378072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SourWolf/pseuds/SourWolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is woken up from a good, albeit confusing, dream by a red-eyed beast creeping around his house. His dad got called out for work and Scott's unreliable so that only leaves one person to call for help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strange Dreams and Bad Jokes

Scott had just scored another goal. The goal. The goal that won the state championship for the Beacon Hills Cyclones. That was all well and good, but more importantly, I had executed the winning pass. I was the one responsible for intercepting a pass from the other team, avoiding getting my ass handed to me by the much bigger guys surrounding me, and even jumping over Jackson as he tried to take me down ‘accidently’ to stop me from getting the glory in order to get the ball into Scott’s capable hands.

Sure, Scott was the one that actually got the point as I stared hopefully at him, my tongue tracing over my lips to prepare them for the exertion they were about to go through if we won, but that wasn’t the point this time. He was a freaking werewolf and had gotten praised enough times for his lacrosse skills that this was my moment. I was the underdog that miraculously came out from nowhere to give our team the win.

Scott didn’t even hesitate. As soon as our victory was secured, he was with me cheering over our victory and my particularly big role in it. It was my second pass that game that resulted in a goal. Obviously that meant I was the reason for victory. Without me, we would have lost by one instead of winning by one.

Jackson was pissed. Scott and I had practically wiped the field with his overly pretty face. He was responsible for less than half the goals this game. Scott and I (and I do mean Scott and I, numbers be damned, Scott is nothing without me by his side) had claim to the rest.

Again, that wasn’t the point right now. The point was that I was responsible for us winning. Even Coach Finstock looked proud of me for once in his life.

And Lydia was noticing me for a change. Was this heaven? It must have been heaven. That gorgeous smile was directed at me. It was overlooking Jackson and Scott completely. I ran to Dad, Scott heading to Allison as we cheered together. This was a great day. It beat saving Derek’s wolf ass and watching his body manage to heal just before he died by a long shot.

_Oh my God_. What was Derek doing here? I caught sight of him as I jumped onto my dad, who hugged me and started telling me how proud he was. He didn’t look pissed or angry or even intimidating. Well, no more intimidating than was natural for an alpha werewolf capable of easily killing everything around him. He looked peaceful. Like the time that he had shared the werewolf myth with me, slipping away into the memories of his family telling him stories as werewolves gathered around a little werewolf fire in a little werewolf forest while they listened and nibbled on rabbits and kittens, consuming the cuteness to make them even more menacing. It was the only explanation for Derek’s incredible ability to threaten people while Scott… well, Scott was the little werewolf in the little werewolf world that hopped with the deer in the meadows of flowers and happy sunshine instead of tearing it to shreds. Did meadows of flowers and happy sunshine exist in the little werewolf world?

My question was interrupted by strong hands taking hold of me waist. Derek was pulling me away from me father, hauling me off of me feet too easily to be fair. There was always a little bit of amazement mixed into the fear that I felt when Derek started forcing me around like that, all strength and will and dominance as he forced me to bend to will, but usually just forced me up against walls. Lots of walls. This time, there was no fear. I wasn’t sure why, but there were butterflies in my stomach. And suddenly I knew why. This was definitely why. The butterflies fluttered out of my stomach, leaving my throat in a sound that I had never heard myself make before – a sound of submission and happiness and other things I couldn’t place. I was making the sound for a reason, namely Derek’s stubble scratching at my face as his lips pressed against mine. Derek Alphagrump Hale was kissing me. It was surprisingly nice. He was a lot gentler than I would have guessed, and those powerful fingers were gentle too as they pressed into the base of my spine, skillfully dissolving all the tension that the game had caused me.

I hit the ground with a thump, jerking around as I realized I’d been dreaming. I spat out the mouthful of comforter and got up, planning to brush my teeth for about three hours straight to rid of the taste of cotton and the bits of lint and most importantly of all, to punish my horrible mouth for thinking what it did to me in my sleep was in any way acceptable. I mean, really? What was my tongue thinking? I’d figure out a way to make my brain pay later. That’s right, brain; you’re going to get it. Prepare for an hour of Days of Our Lives after the most intense round of teeth cleaning ever experienced in the history of the American Dental Association. Eat your heart out Crest.

It was around this time that I realized it wasn’t the fall that had woken me up. Which made sense, it wasn’t that big of a surprise for me to roll off my bed as I tossed and turned at night. There was a screeching sound downstairs. I slipped down quietly to find out where it was coming from. Dad must have left the blinds up while he was home doing paperwork earlier because I stared at a pair of glowing red eyes framed by a mannish shadow. Something very sharp and claw-like dragging over the window causing the scraping sound and somehow I knew that this wasn’t Derek trying to scare me. This thing that wasn’t Derek had glowing red eyes. Derek got glowing red eyes by becoming an alpha. If inductive reasoning held true, and if A plus B equals C (in this case, red eyes + werewolf = alpha), then that thing that was not Derek was going to kill me (in this case, every werewolf I meet tries to kill me + thing outside is a werewolf = I’m going to die).

The not Derek alpha werewolf saw me, canting its head to a side and hit the window as though it wanted to test the glass, or me. If it was testing the glass, it failed. The glass held, replying to the blow with a dull thud. If the werewolf was testing me, score one for the werewolf. I scramble up the stairs, stumbling and falling onto my knees twice before I reached the top. I ran into my room and locked my door before I hid out of view of the window.

I stared at my phone. I wanted to call Dad. But an alpha would kill my father as easily as it would kill me, badge and gun or no badge and gun. That was out. Scott was my next thought, but I couldn’t wake Scott up unless I literally jumped on top of him in the morning. Besides, he couldn’t even take Derek out when the older man was only a beta. My phone was already calling Derek before I realized it was simultaneously the best and worst thing I could. Could a werewolf that was eternally in a bad mood be in an even worse mood after being woken up in the middle of the night?

\----

I was dreaming. Already I was forgetting the dream, but it was peaceful and whoever was making me lose the little peace of mind that I had left to me better have a good reason or they were going to end up with their liver dripping blood from the puncture marks made by the fangs that ripped it out.

My sleep-filled eyes refused to make out the name of the caller, so I put the phone to my ear and let out an annoyed grunt to let the person on the other end of the line know I was there and I was not happy about being woken up.

“Derek!”

Stiles. I was going to kill him. I would do it this time. Forget the liver. That was too fast. He would pass out and die a relatively painless death. Derek wanted it to hurt. Just how many bites did it take to get to the center of a hyperactive teenage boy?

“Stiles. Its Christmas Eve. Santa isn’t going to come if you stay up all night.” I said, my fatigue preventing the full force of my anger to rise to the surface. Instead it just came out as gruff annoyance. My wolf was still sleeping. Lucky him.

“I don’t _want_ to be awake right now.” He hissed, and this time I heard it. I should have heard it earlier. The realization made me sit up and automatically my eyes sought out the closest articles of clothing.

“Stiles, what’s wrong?” I asked, my voice growing firm. It wasn’t a question. It was an order for the teenager to tell me what was frightening him. His voice was dripping with fear so strong I could smell it through the phone line. This wasn’t the normal fear that often seemed to cling to the awkward boy, especially when he knew I was around. This was the fear of the boy I dove in front of the alpha to protect when we discovered it my uncle. The fear of the boy that genuinely thought I was going to kill him when I threatened him. The fear of the boy that thought he was going to be taken from the world, leaving his father with no one to care for him, causing to blame himself and fall into a downward spiral that would claim him too.

I was already pulling on my jacket and heading down the stairs when he answered, his voice in that same whisper-scream mode that I should have noticed as soon as I heard my name. The human in what I could only loosely refer to as my pack needed me, and if he was trying to get to me that meant both his father and Scott were already out of the picture. I just hoped that wasn’t bad news. “Someone’s outside.”

My mind stopped for a moment and I felt the wolf rise up in annoyance. It rekindled my anger in being woken unnecessarily. If I got a call over a raccoon in a trash can, Stiles really was going to die.

“Your father?” I prompted, getting into my car and starting into town. It certainly seemed like it was a problem that should be solved by the local police, especially given that he lived in the house.

“No. It’s not –“ Stiles said, his voice stopping, the silence growing more tense as I realized that it was because he heard something. “It wasn’t like _that_. It’s… I saw glowing eyes. Red ones.” He stated firmly, and I could hear him curling up in the corner of his room.

“Were you smart enough to lock your window?” I heard the whimper that Stiles connected with his imminent demise and took that as a no. “Don’t bother now. Stay where you are and don’t hang up.”

“Hang up? Are you kidding me? You’re lucky they don’t make a werewolf conference call option for speed dial. Not that it would do much good. Scott’s either sleeping like the dead or off screwing Allison somewhere.” I took the chatter as a good sign. I learned enough about Stiles to know that there was a limit to his talking. If he got too scared, too sad, too nervous, too whatever, then he would actually start getting quiet. The fact that he was calm enough to start babbling on about nothing in particular gave me some reassurance. “I was just having the best dream too. The lacrosse team won state and Lydia was there cheering me on and then I ran up and…” His voice faltered, like he realized he was verging on telling me something that not only did I not want to know but that he would actually embarrass himself by saying. “Yeah. So. How close are you again?”

Stiles screamed when the window slid up and I followed the cool night air into his bedroom. My hand clamped over his mouth and I put a finger over my lips to tell him to shut up before the world ended up thinking I was intruder. When he calmed down a bit, I released him and relief flooded through his body and out of his pores.

“Stay here.” I ordered firmly and opened Stiles’ door.

He waited long enough for me to get to the stairs before he followed me. Whether it was the fear that something would have followed my path into the window or him simply feeling safer near me, I don’t know. I growled at the teenager, warning him to stay back. He gave me about ten feet before he started after me again, remaining about halfway up the stairs when I reached the door. I could feel his apprehension; if it weren’t for his father possibly walking into a very bad situation, I feel confident that he would have stopped me from opening the door. Stiles Stilinski was not a fighter. He didn’t like seeing blood. The idea of gore made him sick. But mostly, I just think that he didn’t like seeing pain. He’d seen enough of it, experienced enough of it, and it just reminded him of what he saw in the mirror when his mother crossed his mind or in the shadowy recesses of his nightmares.

Opening the door, I was met with a flurry of movement as something very human jumped in front of me. The idiot let loose something that I reluctantly identified as a howl. My wolf was seething under my skin at the offensively pitiful mimicry of our kind.

The human’s face was covered with night vision goggles alight with a red glow, but that didn’t stop me from noticing the way his body stiffened when he realized that I was not the intended teenage target of this poorly thought out practical joke. The offender didn’t have time to react further. With a snarl, my hand whipped out and took a swipe. The blow I landed was soft in my opinion. It only sent the mockery of a “werewolf” flying about five feet into the Stilinskis’ front lawn.  The goggles clattered across the yard and the red light flickered out of being.

Another figure came out of the shadows and shoved me. I stumbled back a step and felt Stiles’ hand steadying my shoulder. I looked back and gave a warning growl and started to tell the teenager to get back inside, but I was interrupted by the commanding voice of an overgrown child.

“What do you think you’re doing? Do you have any idea how much those goggles cost?” The tall child yelled at me, his perfectly gelled hair catching the moonlight.

The voice ignited a rage that burned through my veins, making my wolf howl for the freedom to taste the blood of those that would dare threaten my pack. The anger seethed and boiled to a point where I thought it would burn off my flesh, leaving nothing behind but the bloodthirsty alpha.

But the anger wasn’t entirely mine. It was erupting from Stiles, directed in several different directions that only served to feed back to the source and produce more and more. Stiles pushed passed me, landing a blow on Jackson that would leave him with a black eye. The blond stiffened, not planning on let Stiles get away with hitting him for a second time.

When Jackson’s fist struck at Stiles, I caught it, my hand clenching around the wealthy boy’s until the joints were creaking from the pressure. Jackson growled at me, trying to hide the overwhelming pain that built up inside of him and trickled out through his eyes as he fell to his knees in front of me. The little act of submission made my wolf relax, but it wanted more. It wouldn’t be happy until blood mixed with the tears that leaked out of the overachieving athlete.

Stiles took another shot at Jackson, kicking him squarely in the stomach with enough force that it would have broken a rib if he aimed any higher. Jackson crumpled to the ground, coughing and dry heaving. I released my hold on his hand and my arms circled around Stiles to stop him as he reeled back to give Jackson another punishing blow. Stiles fought against me as I hauled him away from the blonde, his feet kicking against my shins and his hands and elbows beating at whatever they could reach on my upper body. If it weren’t for my body’s ability to heal quickly, I would have been covered in bruises for weeks.

Danny, who had been helping the ‘werewolf’ get back to his feet after my blow, came over to collect his friend that was still struggling to draw breath into his lungs. He gave Stiles and me an apologetic look on behalf of Jackson.

“Is he going to be okay?” Danny asked me, looking at Stiles as he continued to rage against the confines of my arms.

I was tempted to cover Stiles’ mouth to stop the stream of curses – and I call them curses only because of the tones he used since most of them involved references from Star Wars or other movies – but I had never seen Stiles like this and I didn’t really want to deal with a bitten off finger.

“Worry about him.” I said, nodding towards Jackson. “If you were worried about Stiles, you would have stopped this before it happened.” I growled, dragging Stiles inside and kicking the door closed.

By now, Stiles had finally stopped fighting me and he just let me carry him up the stairs. His body was shaking as I placed him on the bed and he just rolled over onto his stomach to hide his face. I realized that he was sobbing and my eyebrows knitted together in confusion. Stiles didn’t need to be crying. He lived. He was never in any real danger. He even got to punish Jackson pretty thoroughly for trying that on him. Tentatively, in a motion that I hoped wasn’t nearly as awkward as it felt, I put a hand on the teenager’s shoulder and squeezed it gently. The sobs, as muffled as they were, stopped suddenly. Only the occasional tremor rolling through Stiles body remained as proof that he was forcing it down. He pushed himself up and away from my hand, getting off the bed and disappearing into the bathroom for a few minutes. When he came back in, I was leaning against the windowsill. Our eyes met and we both quickly averted our gazes.

“Why are you still here? You found out there wasn’t another alpha pissing on your town. Shouldn’t badass Mr. Derek Hale get all pissy that I was wrong and storm home growling about how he’s surrounded by stupid teenagers or something?” Stiles asked, his voice rough from crying and sounding bitter.

My brow raised in surprise at the outburst but I recovered quickly and let out a growl. Stiles just rolled his eyes and sat on his bed, curling into a ball while he eyed me.

“I’m staying.” I said simply, my green eyes locking in a firm stare on the shimmering brown orbs that regarded me with a hostility and disdain that he hadn’t even shown me when he thought I was a murderer.

Stiles let out a frustrated growl, sliding his hands over his close-cropped hair and shaking his head. “You just think you’re such a badass. I don’t need you protecting me from Jackson of all things.”

“What if he comes back with friends?” I replied, eyeing the boy speculatively. After the fit of violence I had just witnessed, I was even willing to admit that Stiles would at least stand a chance if anyone tried to threaten him again.

“I can take care of myself.” He shot back, glaring at me.

“Says the kid that called me because he thought something was outside.” I replied crossly.

“I thought it was a werewolf, douche. Just get out or I’m calling Dad.” Stiles threatened me.

I smirked confidently. I knew I won this time. “And tell him what? That the same person you got arrested came over to make sure you were safe while you were being taunted by teenagers and is refusing to leave you alone in case they come back?”

“Oh my God, I hate you so freaking much.” Stiles fumed, banging his back against the wall in annoyance.

“You along with the rest of Beacon Hills.” I snarled, turning away from Stiles and giving my attention to the fact that the bookshelf was now filled with more werewolf books for his research. The wolf wanted to rebuke the teenager for treating me so poorly and I didn’t want the boy to see the struggle that occurred as it tried to push its way to the surface.

“That’s not true, you know.” Stiles’ voice was deflated suddenly. I heard him climb off the bed and his cheek rested against my shoulder blade. I stiffened and he pulled away for a second before he leaned against me again.

I glared over my shoulder, clenching my fists. It was a strange sensation to have something make me angry yet appease the wolf. I couldn’t think of another time in my life when it had ever happened. I was usually the calming influence on the animalistic wolf. Yet, the wolf in me was happy with the closest thing to a pack bond that had been expressed in months. It wanted me to reciprocate, to pull Stiles back to bed to share in the platonic comfort and contact that members shared with one another, to make him feel safe and both of us feel just a little less lonely.

He knew what he was doing. He had to after months of research about how everything worked. It pissed me off that he would throw out such harsh words one second and then switch so smoothly to apology. It was like a real pack, a real family; the way fighting and affection were so closely intertwined. Stiles’ attention to even this minute of a detail made me want to push him off, to tell him to fend for himself and let him wallow in whatever sadness or anger might reclaim after I left.

“So that’s why you and Scott had me thrown in jail and left me to die when I was impaled by the alpha? That’s why someone would be willing to go through the trouble of seducing one of us just to get into the house? That’s why the entire town was so willing to think that a fire that large that killed that many people was just an accident? That’s why the investigation was dropped and forgotten and the people behind it were allowed to run free for a decade?” I growled, shaking lightly with the anger that began to stir, even spreading to the wolf at the thought of Kate.

Stiles, the little bastard, pressed closer and gripped at the cloth of my shirt. Instantly, the wolf calmed and it was difficult for me to keep my anger. “There was nothing that Dad could do legally, you know.” He said softly, and I could feel his sigh through the fabric of my shirt. “But after every shift for months, he would go over the paperwork to try to figure it out. He didn’t think it was an accident either, but the insurance adjustor is considered an expert and Dad just had a hunch at best.”

What could I say to that? It was obvious that Stiles was telling the truth. I pushed the teenager into the bed with a growl. Stiles grinned as he got comfortable and I bared a set of ivory fangs that he ignored completely. When had Stiles become immune to me?

“Sleep.” I ordered, my eyes flashing red when Stiles sat up despite the command.

His hands flew up and he shook his head. “No, chill, God, don’t kill me.” Finally, a little bit of healthy fear. “I was just going to say we could sleep head to toe or back to back or something. If you’re gonna stay, you should at least be comfortable. Or I could just get you some extra pillows and stuff.”

I shook my head, giving Stiles’ shoulder a shove so he’d fall back against the bed. I sat on the floor next to the bed, resting my head against the mattress. It was more comfortable than some of the places I’d slept in the past.

Stiles curled up, and I could hear that he was tilted towards me. Whether as reassurance to himself, an apology to me, or just an unconscious desire to be closer to the pack that we had all been forced into, his hand fell to rest on my shoulder.

“Think you could help me make French toast in the morning?” He asked through a yawn. At least sleep was finally coming back to him. “Last time I tried, it was disastrous. Everything just tasted like eggy bread covered in sugar. I know he loves it though, and its just one time a year. I think his heart can take it. Its not like he’s on the verge of a heart attack or anything. And he doesn’t look happy enough any more. Maybe if we can make him a really good breakfast…” He rambled. I had to hold back the sigh that threatened to work its way out of me. Stiles even rambled while he was falling asleep? Is there anything that actually shut him up? His fingers curled around the collar of my shirt as he fell asleep and my wolf was content to let me slip into a light sleep.

“Stiles? You still up, son?” The sheriff’s call waking me up as his voice slowly moved closer.


End file.
